


Writhe

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Crack, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, M/M, Naughty Penises, Penis Dentata, Sentient Penises, oh where to start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22208737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dean and Sam get home after taking care of a case, and decide to ease some of that post hunt tension.That’s when they find out dealing with serpent-worshipping cultists is not without consequences.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34
Collections: Supernatural Anon Kink Meme





	Writhe

**Author's Note:**

> So....I don’t know what to say, just please read the tags and if you choose to read on, I warned you :)

Fuck, he stinks, and knows it, but Sam’s not exactly fresh as a daisy and there’s something about pressing in close to him when they still smell of the road and stale sweat and gun oil and leather.

Yeah.

It doesn’t take much for his big little brother to get on board, and they don’t even bother to get undressed; Dean just shoves his pants half way down his thighs, Sam’s pants end up open and snug around his hips, and if anything did manage to breach the bunker’s wards then to come for them, they’ll be too hobbled to do anything about it.

Hell of a way to go, though, Dean thinks, as he grinds against Sam, moaning when Sam grabs his ass to pull him in closer.

It’s so good that Dean doesn’t notice at first that it’s also something else, and he starts to pull back, prompting a puzzled “Dean?” from Sam before he must feel it too.

And Dean yelps when he realises he can’t pull back. 

Because something...it’s like his dick is hung up, caught on something, and he’s almost too scared to look down.

But he does.

His mental gears stick and grind because he can’t be seeing what he is.

It’s not possible.

“Sam,” he starts, and Sam hisses and starts to reach down, eyes wide in disbelief.

Their dicks are…. Dean isn’t sure he has words to describe it but they’re wound around each other, moving by themselves, writhing and rubbing and he can see cum leaking out of both their slits and this...is...not...happening.

Except it is and then he realises. “Fucking serpent cultists,” he grunts.

“Seriously?” Sam groans and his head thumps back against the wall, and Dean can relate.

He’s freaked out but right under that he is riding a sharp edge, and that’s just wrong. But what can he do?

Sam seems to have an idea; he grabs one of the dicks, his own, Dean’s, Dean isn’t even sure, and tries to separate it.

Dean feels the start of a giggle when one of the penises actually _slaps_ Sam’s hand, hard enough to make his brother yelp and pull back.

“Guess, we...uh….fuck...gotta let ‘em do what they’re going to do.”

Sam glares at him. “Our penises are suddenly sentient and _vicious_ and you just want to let it happen?”

Dean resists pointing out what’s happening is just a more animated version of what was going to happen anyway because his brother looks about an inch from freaking out and just trying to pull free (that, Dean’s sure, would be a really bad idea).

But he can’t deny it’s creepy as hell, feeling their dicks writhe and rub even if just under that he can feel a pleasurable edge.

“They’re not...shit...vicious.” Trust Sam to be over dramatic. As if to prove that, Dean reaches down to try and gently coax their dicks apart, and one, which he thinks is his own (treacherous little _prick_ ) actually rears at him.

He catches what he thinks is the impression of tiny curved teeth and yanks his hands back.

“This is fine,” he says. “We’re just going to leave them be.”

Sam’s seen it too from the way he’s pale as milk. “Sounds good to me. Just...let them do their thing.”

Their thing, which both brothers end up hypnotically watching even if it feels almost like voyeurism, is the most twisted act of frottage imaginable.

It’s literally two penises making out, the heads bobbing against each other, the slits meeting and messily exchanging cum, smearing it over the other’s skin.

And it shouldn’t be as hot as Dean’s finding it; like Sam’s finding it, too, and he can tell by the hitch in his brother’s breathing because on many an occasion he’s been the one responsible for that hitch.

But there’s no way to stop it, and the part of his mind that wants to be practical here (and scared as fuck) and is running like crazy through the longer term potential issues here, like how are they going to manage with dicks that have a mind of their own and teeth to ensure they can do what they want when they want, that gets drowned out by an wave of _fuck so good_ that Dean’s body shudders and goes so weak he’s afraid he can’t keep to his feet.

Which would be a problem because falling over then could cause a major medical emergency either because Sam doesn’t fall with him, or _because_ Sam falls with him.

De-penified or crushed by moose. What the fuck is his life?

“Do you think...holy actual fuck...they’re venomous?”

Dean feels his mouth fall open but there’s nothing he can say to that, because sometimes he feels like he’s failed Sam in his upbringing.

_Maybe they are_ , his mind chimes in, the little voice that’s also mumbling about never being able to take a bath again in case he drowns his own dick. _Maybe what you think is cum is actually venom and you’re both going to end up in the E.R trying to explain how you got poisoned by your own penises_.

“Shut up,” Dean manages, to both his brother and the little shitty voice of reason in his head, and then he can’t form any more words because he’s coming, and Sam is, white froth spilling out of them both, coating them and Sam actually yells.

Dean slumps against him, Sam slumps against the wall or a pillar, hell if Dean even knows at this point, and that’s about all they can do. Dean’s eyes are shut, his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, trying to remember how to keep his breathing and heart rate at a level not consistent with having run for his life.

When he dares to look down, a little scared of the possibility of seeing his dick looking back (if it’s got eyes, that’s it, he will actually pass out), it’s to find himself hanging limp and sated.

Sam’s dick is too, and they are just dicks. They’re not moving, There’s no teeth, and definitely no eyes, and nothing at all snake like about them.

Dean staggers back, remembers his jeans are still around his thighs and then tugs them up. He watches Sam gingerly tuck himself away, as if expecting a retaliatory attack at any moment, then hurriedly fastens up his flies.

“Did we..”. Sam shakes his head. “Did that actually happen?”

There’s some cum spotting the floor, and Dean knows for a fact he came.

There’s also a neat little bruise forming on Sam’s hand, and Dean figures that’s evidence enough.

“Oh, yeah. And this…. We are never telling Cas about this, not even if it happens again, okay?”

Sam looks like he’d rather let Dean finally chop his hair off before mentioning a word. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Dean’s good with that. And maybe the next time they have to shut down a cult worshipping snakes, they’ll just pass that one on to somebody else.


End file.
